


Truth or Dare

by MDJensen



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Drinking Games, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Steve is not a machine, Truth or Dare, and it's not cool that Danny said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 22:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: Steve and Danny continue a therapy session at home, with the help of a certain game. Set directly after 5x17.





	Truth or Dare

Danny’s pissed.

It’s not like that’s unusual, but Steve feels more responsible for it than he usually does. Not only is Danny genuinely trying at this whole therapy thing, he bought Steve a _guitar_. Definitely second-hand, but still. All Steve has offered him in return is the keys to his own car, and he knows-- because he is a human being, he does know these things-- that that’s not really enough.

He tried. He tried to say some things in their session today. Didn’t happen, though. So he let Danny drive back too.

And now Danny’s pulled the car up in front of Steve’s place, but he hasn’t put it in park, or taken off his seatbelt.

“Not coming in?” Steve prompts.

“Did you want me to?”

“Yeah.”

Danny sighs, loudly, and puts the car in park.

Steve gets out, gets the guitar, and does not watch Danny as he locks up and stomps along behind him. They end up in the living room. Steve perches on the edge of the couch with the case, open, between his feet; Danny flops at the other end of the sofa and sits, still radiating annoyance.

This lasts all of two minutes before Danny gets to his feet. “You want me to come in, but you don’t want to talk? What’s the point?” Then, without giving Steve the chance to answer (which is sort of ironic, isn’t it?) Danny goes into the kitchen. Steve hears the fridge open and shut, then the door outside do the same.

Steve goes into the kitchen too. He gets out some a beer, as well as some whiskey, and sits at the table, waiting for Danny to notice the clouds. Maybe he won’t. Maybe it’ll actually have to start raining for him to come back inside, Steve thinks, but in the end Danny stomps back in with a few minutes to spare.

He sprawls in a chair at the table. “’sgonna rain,” he grumbles.

Steve nods.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Bringing whiskey to a beer party?”

“I’m gonna open up to you,” Steve grunts; “‘sgonna help things along.”

Danny blinks “I don’t believe it,” he huffs. “You are literally taking controlled steps towards giving up a little control. That’s— okay, wow. You’re just gonna--” he mimed taking the shot. “You’re just gonna do that. You’re just gonna sodium pentathol yourself, you’re not even gonna add a drop of water?”

Steve shrugs. He finishes off the liquor in his glass and pours another few fingers.

“That’s too nice to shoot,” Danny grumbles, but Steve ignores him because he’s not shooting it. He’s just drinking it quickly.

“Okay, hit me,” Danny says. “Hit me with your, your honesty.”

And he wants to. Wants to so bad that the wanting is becoming a stomachache.

Steve gets up, gets another glass, and splashes some whiskey in that too.

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth or dare?” Danny echoes, pulling a face.

“Heard of it?”

“Have I heard of-- truth or dare? You mean the thing my, my twelve-year-old daughter plays at slumber parties?”

“She doesn’t play it like a drinking game, I assume.”

“Oh, it’s a drinking game? You play drinking games?”

“Hey, I wasn’t always a SEAL, okay? Starting out I was just a regular sailor, and we were just a bunch of idiot twenty-year-old guys. So we, you know. We played a lot of drinking games. We bonded that way.”

“You bonded that way.”

Danny looks him over a long damn time-- then reaches over and accepts the glass. “Fine. Whatever. You start.”

“You mean I choose first?”

“Mm.”

“Then you have to ask me.”

“Truth or dare,” Danny grunts.

Steve sips his whiskey and, with the fire of it still in his throat, says, “truth.”

“Truth,” Danny replies, like he’s tasting the word. “Truth. Okay. You gonna tell me the truth?”

“I’m gonna tell you the truth.”

“Do you actually get motion sick? If you don’t drive?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes.”

“Really?”

“Now that I’m older, not as often. Usually only on winding roads, or if we’re going really fast. But sometimes it happens for no reason, so I don’t like to risk it.”

“No shit,” Danny says, accepting the answer. Luckily it’s a pretty easy question to start with, and Steve’s happy he’s made Danny happy with relatively little effort.

“You feel sick today?” Danny continues, after sipping his beer.

“No. You’re actually a pretty decent driver. Sometimes.”

“Wow, honesty and a compliment. Okay. My turn.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Get up and get me a beer. I need to pace myself.”

Danny laughs, and brings over a six-pack and opener.

“Truth or dare?” he says, sitting.

“Truth.”

“You ever cry at a movie?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“That’s a different question, Daniel.”

Danny laughs again, admitting defeat. “Truth,” he sighs, finishing off his beer.

“Truth. Okay. How old were you the first time you got drunk?”

“Thirteen. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I _dare_ you to tell me which movie you cried at.”

Steve locks eyes with Danny-- and wordlessly downs the rest of his whiskey.

“Oh, that’s, that’s the drinking game part of this?” Danny laughs. “If you don’t want to, you just drink? That’s-- that’s a metaphor for life, I like it. Okay. Truth.”

“Most scared you’ve ever been.”

“Day Grace was born.”

“Truth.”

“Most scared _you’ve_ ever been?”

“Captured goin’ after Cath.”

“Okay. Truth.”

“Happiest you’ve ever been.”

“Day Grace was born. You?”

“Um. I dunno. Graduating BUD/S, I guess.”

Danny nods. The whiskey has now become a game piece, so neither of them touches theirs, but they sit in silence for a few minutes to finish their beers. Danny opens them new ones.

“Do you find it weird that you had to think before you could tell me your happiest day? Or that you weren’t sure, even after you answered?”

“Not my turn,” Steve grunts. Before the whiskey became a separate thing he’d already had maybe four or five shots worth, and he’s feeling it a little. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Go wash your hair. I wanna see what it looks like with no gel in it.”

“You’ve seen— you’ve seen my hair with no gel in it. I’ve showered here before.”

“Yeah but you always still push it when it’s wet back so it dries back.”

“So you want me to do sex hair for you, is what you’re saying? Mm. Nuh-uh.”

“Then take your shot.”

Danny does. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Play that song for me. The one you never played.”

Steve takes his shot.

“Okay. Fair enough. Truth.”

“You ever been in therapy before?”

“Yeah, after Billy. Guy was all right. Taught me some stuff to do for the worst of it.” Danny frowns. “But at least once a session he’d ask if I wet the bed.”

“Did you wet the bed?”

“No. I guess he thought I was lying. Maybe I seemed so much of a mess otherwise, he thought, y’know, this jerk, no way this little jerk ain’t piss the bed. But I genuinely— I genuinely did not.” Danny sips his beer. “I had nightmares. Um. I had those so bad I puked a couple times. But I did not wet the bed.”

Steve nods, slowly. “Truth.”

“When Wo Fat had you. You think you were gonna die?”

“No. It wasn’t, uh. It wasn’t about that. That’s not what was hard about it.”

“Okay. Dare.”

Steve feels himself laugh, a little higher-pitched than he usually might. “Moonwalk.”

“What?”

“Sorry. It’s a thing. Had to be included in every game.”

“You’re getting drunk, Steven.”

“No, I’m not. Now, either moonwalk or drink your drink.”

Danny takes his shot.

“That was strategic,” he says, after washing it down with some beer. “Leave it to you to play truth or dare strategically.”

Steve shrugs. “Truth.”

Danny eyes him again, though it’s softer than last time.

“You got a little teary. In the session today, when we were talking about, uh-- how our week had been.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Am I right or am I wrong?”

“You’re right,” Steve allows.

“And that’s why you stopped talking. Because God forbid you end up emoting.”

Steve nods, drinking his beer.

“Why’d you, uh. Why’d you get upset?”

“I wasn’t upset.”

“You were. That’s what tears mean.”

“You’re squeezing a lot out of one round of this, Daniel.”

“Fuck you,” Danny snaps. “Fuck this game. Can we please just fucking acknowledge that you and I, we have both seen each other at our absolute fucking worsts, okay. I have seen you cry, Steve, Jesus, you’ve seen me hysterical! Three months ago you were there when I pulled my brother’s body out of an oil drum in Colombia. Month later, I saw you tortured and concussed and so fucking drugged up you thought your dad was still alive! Whatever it is, it’s not gonna be heavier than that! So can you please fucking talk to me?”

Steve’s stomach is kind of starting to ache again. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“It was— the guitar, Danny— that’s just. It’s one of the nicest things anyone’s done for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“But also I need you to promise me you won’t spend that much money every time I tell you something personal.”

Danny’s lips quirk. “Tell me you weren’t crying because you think I’m that broke. I mean I’m broke but I’m not that broke.”

“No. I-- I was thinking about--” He pauses, forces himself on. “Thinkin’ about how I left Grace alone, when the thing happened with Dad’s car. Been thinking about it a lot. I was trying to see it from your perspective, you know, and even though I think Grace was old enough for me to do that-- you didn’t, and you’re her father, so your-- your take is what matters. From your perspective, I put her in danger. Unacceptable. And then like three weeks later you buy me a guitar? Man, I just didn’t-- I just don’t deserve that.”

Danny’s gone very still; for him that’s more noticeable than motion. “I did not mean to make you upset.”

“I know.” He can’t remember when he picked up his whiskey, or when he finished it (again), but now he realizes he’s toying with the empty glass, rolling it on its edge along the table. “It’s not just that. I. Um. Getting upset. It’s been happening a lot lately?” It sounds ridiculous. But it’s the truth, and Danny wants the truth. “It’s harder for me to tamp down. Since. Um. Wo Fat.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I dunno if there’s still something working its way out of my system or if—“

“Steve, you were tortured. You were tortured and drugged and almost killed and you’re allowed to be a little traumatized.”

“I’m not traumatized.”

“I said a little. A little traumatized.”

“And anyway,” Steve says, ignoring him, “anyway since then it’s been kind of harder to keep control of it.”

“You realize you literally teared up. Steve. You literally just had tears in your eyes, I don’t think that-- I don’t even think that counts. And you’re talking about it like you lost control.”

“That is losing control for me, Danny. The past couple of months-- a lot of stuff has made me feel like I’m losing control. And then I’m supposed to open myself up on top of that and I feel like— I feel like there’s just gonna be a time I don’t piece back together. I’m not-- I’m not a machine,” Steve finishes, putting the glass down.

“What I meant—“

“No, I know what you meant.”

“I shouldn’ta said the machine thing, Steve. I am— I am genuinely sorry for that.”

“Ten years ago I would’ve taken it as a compliment.” Steve smiles wryly. “In a way I still do. But. Um.”

“What? You can tell me, c’mon.”

“Danny, I’ve been crying all the time since Wo Fat. Not just about my dad, about-- anything, everything.”

What he doesn’t say-- what he’s praying Danny won’t notice-- is how close he is to crying now.

Danny’s noticed, of course, and he pulls his chair closer.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey. It’s okay, Stevie. That’s the whole fucking point.”

“But it’s not. It’s not the point and it’s not okay.” Steve shakes head and scrubs his eyes, sniffing a little.

Danny cups a hand around the back of his skull, fingers curling over Steve’s neck, and cradles his head silently. It’s all the tenderness Steve has watched him show Grace and he can’t believe it, doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve receiving it too.

“You probably don’t want a hug right now right,” Danny says, after a minute.

Steve shakes his head because he’s just finally gotten the tears to recede and if Danny hugs him right now there’s better than even odds he’ll end up right back where he started. Maybe worse honestly because he kind of feels like bawling his eyes out.

“Truth. Okay. Real therapy question here.” Danny’s taken his hand away. “Why do you always pull back from stuff like this, huh? Why don’t you let yourself--?”

“I’m not— I’m not supposed to,” he whispers, and Danny sighs.

“Steve. Oh, babe. That’s some bullshit, okay? That’s some grade A bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit.”

“No, no— it’s not bullshit. You’re bullshit. You’re not unemotional, you just don’t wanna— you just don’t wanna handle it!”

“Handle it? How is crying about anything _handling_ it?”

“Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“Fuck it, Steve.”

“What?”

“You don’t— you just don’t wanna touch anything you can’t do anything about. That’s it. That’s what your whole thing is. You got your win/loss ratio to think about!”

“You say that like it’s an epiphany. How long have you known me?”

“It doesn’t count when it’s taking care of yourself!”

“What do you want me to tell you?” Without warning Steve finds himself on his feet. “That four years later I miss him more than ever? And all the shit I needed to forgive him for, put it to rest-- I miss him this much and I _still can’t_?” The room’s going blurry again. “Or the rest of it? How much I want Catherine back? Huh? Or you want me to tell you that the night of Deb’s wedding, I cried so hard I thought I’d puke?”

He hears his own blood rushing and it’s like his vision going red, but worse, harder to plow through. “What do you want me to say? Why is it so important to you to hear me say that I’m hurting?”

Danny hasn’t stood. “Because we’re friends,” he says, evenly.

‘”Why is that what friendship is to you? Why can’t it just be barbecues and football, huh? Why do you feel like you need to— know all this shit about me? Is it really that interesting?”

He looks out to the ocean, sees the rain has started. And suddenly he’s too angry to be near Danny a second longer, so he marches out into it and stands there, staring at the water, at the storm clouds looming over it.

He’s out there less than a minute when he feels a hand on his elbow.

“We’re not doin’ this, big guy,” Danny says, calmly. “Drunk an’ distraught in the rain, we’re not actually doing that tonight. Come on.”

Steve blinks, wetter than he thought he’d get, and lets Danny lead him back into the house, into the living room, and settle him on the couch. Then he disappears. Comes back a minute later with a roll of paper towels and dries off Steve’s hair and arms.

Steve shivers. He’s definitely not drenched but it’ll be a few minutes for his shirt to dry. So it’s nice, the warmth he feels when Danny sits right beside him.

“Babe,” he says, patting Steve’s knee. “Listen. Are you listening?”

“Yeah.”

“You are— the only person I got, okay?”

Steve frowns. “No ’m not.”

“You are. You’re the only person I got that I can— give my shit to. Okay? My real shit. Okay? Melissa— you know, when we went away, before the ex-husband thing, that first night we were there I had nightmares like crazy. One of the worst nights yet. Kept seeing Matty’s body, kept seeing myself kill Reyes, and she asked me about it. And I almost— I almost told her. I started to tell her. But then I couldn’t.”

“Danny.” Steve makes himself sit up a little. “You know— you know you’ve got me. You need to talk, I’m here.”

“But that’s the thing. I don’t want— I don’t want to be this blubbering, pathetic crybaby, falling to pieces in front of this— this statue, okay, this impenetrable rock. Fuck it, Steve, I don’t want you to break down for your sake. I need it for my sake, I need to be strong for you sometimes so that— so that-- fuck. I need to be the strong one sometimes. And I need to be the one in fucking pieces sometimes. I need both of those things from you, and that’s a lot to ask, but I’m not sorry.”

Steve nods, nods some more, then lets his head drop into his hands. Danny’s arm drapes around his back.

“You all right? Sobriety-wise, I mean. You need water or Advil or anything?”

“I’m good.”

“Okay. Hey. Can we, uh. Can we hug this out, please?”

“You need a hug?”

“I need a hug,” Danny agrees. Steve snorts, sits up, and wraps his arms around Danny, who hugs back like his life depends on it. Without really meaning to Steve sinks back against the couch, taking Danny with him.

Danny doesn’t fight it, though, just lays warmly against Steve’s chest.

“Shirt’s wet,” he grunts, a few minutes later. “No, Steven, that’s not an invitation to take it off.”

“Stay for dinner?” Steve counters, not reacting. “If I actually let you choose?”

“Will you actually let me choose Chinese?”

“Yeah.”

“Joke’s on you, because I think I want Indian.”

“Again?”

Danny peers up, glaring, and Steve pulls a grin.

“Indian. Got it. But-- in a minute?”

Danny laughs. “In a minute,” he agrees, and settles more comfortably. Over his hair Steve eyes the guitar still on the floor, making sure he didn’t accidentally drip on it. Doesn’t seem he has.

He sighs. He’s not drunk drunk but when there’s nothing to distract him from himself, his head’s definitely spinning a little. Not so bad he’s nauseous or anything. Just-- enough that it’s a bit of a drain on resources. Enough that he doesn’t have 100% of himself to put into the rest of it.

“Why I didn’t keep playing,” he hears himself say, then stops. Danny thumbs over his arm. “Um. After the talent show. Dad was pissed. Said, if you’re not gonna do something right, don’t bother.”

Danny snuffles. “Stevie, your dad sounds like a genuinely great guy. But that’s a shitty thing to say.”

“I know. Anyway. Left for the mainland a few months later, didn’t take it with me. I dunno what happened to it after that. Never touched another, ‘til today.”

They’d sort of relaxed, leaning more than hugging, but now Danny squeezes his arms around Steve’s waist again. “We don’t have to keep going, if you don’t want.”

“Therapy? It’s mandated.”

“Nah, we could cooperate. Script it. Session or two, we could have her sign off on us, easy.”

“No, let’s-- let’s keep at it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t-- I don’t wanna mess this up, what we got. Y’know. This means a lot to me.”

Danny readjusts himself, puts his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Me too, babe.”

“I go to a group sometimes. Not technically therapy, it’s a-- thing--”

“Support group?”

“Yeah.”

“Military?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Danny says, and pats Steve’s knee again. “Hey, Steve McGarrett and drinking games. Always more I don’t know about you. Guess I can live with that.”

Steve feels himself relax a little further, taking Danny’s words as he knows they’re meant: an acknowledgement of how much of an effort the last hour has really been for him. And permission to stop now, if he needs to.

Instead he huffs, rolls his head away from Danny. “I failed a math test once in sixth grade.”

“Oh. Okay?”

“Wine upsets my stomach.”

 “Oh, I see. More personal confessions.”

“I find cheese creepy if I think about it for too long.”

“Okay. Okay.”

 “I pee in the shower.”

“Oh god. Okay, first of all, the cheese thing, that is not about you. That is not--”

“Sure it is, I’m admitting to being uneasy about something--”

“ _Cheese_ \--”

“Cheese.”

“Second of all, I have showered in your shower, so thank you--”

“You’re washing the dirt down the shower anyway, it’s efficient--”

“I take it back. I take it all back. I don’t want to know shit about you. You cheese-fearing, shower-pissing asshole--”

“Okay, okay,” Steve relents, because Danny is gearing up for a full-on rant. It’s not that he’ll mind the rant. It’s just that Danny’s squirming, like he’s going to pull away and sit up to rant more effectively, and that, Steve will mind. “I’ll stop,” he laughs. “Don’t go ‘way.”

“Don’t go away? Jesus.” Danny settles again, head back on Steve’s shoulder where it belongs. “I won’t go away. Fine, fine. I won’t go away.”

“Good,” Steve huffs out, and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> So... it's kind of ridiculous how fast I'm moving through H50. Seriously. I started a few little fics set during season 1 and 2, and intended to just post as I go along. And the next thing I know, I find myself finishing up season 5? So posting out of order has flown out the window. Oh well. Hope you enjoyed :)


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